Chapter Eight
Mason
“You were only being kept as a precaution.” I gesture to the glass on my desk and watch Thatcher shift from one foot to the other, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his left eye twitching. “After the past few weeks, I’m sure you can understand why we had to detain you.”
“I’m not foolish enough to try going after the Paynes alone,” Thatcher snaps.
I lean back in my chair and smile. “Good.”
Thatcher’s eyes gleam. “But make no mistake, when your enemies swoop in—and they will get to you eventually—I’m going to make sure I’m there to watch them burn every last piece of this fucking place to the ground.”
My smile disappears as I study the old man. “You’re still my prisoner, Thatcher. It would be unfortunate if something were to happen if you were in my custody. But you know how these things go.”
Thatcher loses some of his nerve and stops in front of my desk. “You won’t risk the wrath of the Thayers.”
I snort. “What wrath? You and I both know you’re not going to do a damn thing, and neither will Elise. She and I have an understanding.”
And she knows better than to risk me leaking word of her betrayal to the wrong people.
Elise has bitten off more than she can chew, but at least she knows when to fall in line.
If only her father were half as smart.
It’s a shame they’ll never consider Elise as the next head of the family once I’m done with her.
With Thatcher gone, the Thayers’ allies are probably ripping each other apart to see who will come out on top.
Thatcher’s absence has created a vacuum, and I know Elise will fight tooth and nail, but the odds aren’t in her favor.
Having her in a seat of power could be used to my advantage, provided I make sure her father is returned alive.
She didn’t, however, say anything about what state he ought to be returned in.
Given his proximity during the past few weeks, a few bumps and bruises won’t raise too many eyebrows, and I’m itching to dole out the punishment.
In the meantime, with Elise in my back pocket, I have one less problem to worry about.
Thatcher scowls. “I’m going to enjoy watching you burn, you miserable fuck.”
I gesture to Katia, who advances on him. “Make sure you escort our guest outside and give him one of your special surprises.”
The color drains from Thatcher’s face as he swallows. “You will not lay a hand on me.”
Katia’s chuckle fills the room and makes Thatcher inch away. “This is my favorite part, you know.”
Thatcher sputters and tries to move away, but trips and falls.
Katia waits as he tries to pull himself back up to his feet. Then she drags him off, and he’s cursing me and my entire family the entire time. When he’s far enough away, Carlisle steps into the study and lets the door close behind him. He waits a few more seconds before he clears his throat.
“We’ve set up the meeting.”
“Have them bring the car around. Katia will accompany me. You will stay with London.”
Carlisle nods and exits the room.
Katia is waiting by the front door when I come out.
She slides into the back with me, and I spend the ride scrolling through my phone until we arrive outside a restaurant with a cursive sign out front.
The ma?tre’d rushes to greet us, and the smell of steamed, fried dumplings and ramen hits me as I enter.
We are led past rows of tables with checkered tablecloths and gleaming vinyl booths.
Then we reach a curtain, and the ma?tre d’ pulls it aside to reveal Noah Sr. with a glass of whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other.
His dark eyes follow me as I step in, and the curtain closes behind me.
With a smile, I sit down and gesture to the nearest waiter, who hurries over.
Noah Sr. smiles. “I was wondering how long it would take you to reach out.”
I pretend to scan the menu. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I didn’t think much of it when you took Noah, considering his… history with the girl. But now that you have Ryder, too, you have my attention.”
I abandon the menu. “I have proof of life.”
Noah Sr. waves my comment away. “I’m sure you do, but I’m not interested in that.”
I raise an eyebrow and gesture for him to continue.
“I’m a businessman, Mr. Payne,” Noah Sr. begins, “and I’m not unreasonable. I’m sure you want to make me an offer.”
Everything I’ve read about Noah Sr. has only made me dislike him more.
I’m not surprised he’s fathered a son like Ryder, underhanded and sneaky, but I wonder how Noah escaped from their shadow.
In certain circles, Noah Sr. is formidable, the kind of man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants, including piling up information on every major politician in the country.
He’s got even more blackmail than I do, and I would be impressed if I wasn’t so disgusted.
I don’t like the parallels being drawn between us, especially with the techniques we’ve both had to use to stay ahead of the game. That’s where the similarities end. My world is built on bloodshed, violence, and chaos, and my hands are far from clean. But, even I have a moral code that I stick to.
Noah Sr. has no qualms when it comes to selling people out, including his kin.
He’s a conniving bastard, which is why I’m surprised he’s agreed to the meeting.
I expect him to tell me to keep his sons and then steer the topic toward business matters.
He’s been trying to get my attention for years, but the only difference is that now, after five years of ignoring him, I’m the one reaching out to him.
All because of goddamn Noah and not being able to keep his mouth shut.
I still have half a mind to dump his body in a ditch, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to follow through.
I won’t let Noah have the last laugh when it comes to London and me.
Noah Sr. picks up his spoon and blows on the soup the waiter has set down in front of him. “I already ordered for us. Now then, onto other topics. I was sorry to hear that you had to make alternate accommodations. Alliances can be so tricky to maintain, don’t you think?”
I tear off a piece of bread and stare at him. “Indeed.”
“I have no use for them. I’d much rather keep the profit and rewards to myself.”
I make a noncommittal noise in response.
“The story Ryder is working on still has momentum,” Noah Sr. continues. “I was surprised when he told me about it.”
I set down my glass. “You knew about it?”
Noah Sr. shrugs and pours himself some water. “It’s not my place to intervene.”
“What’s it going to take to kill the story?”
Even a man like Noah Sr. has some kind of lingering affection for his sons, and if that’s what it takes to bring him to the table, so be it.
I’m not above playing dirty.
Noah Sr. leans back in his seat and scratches his chin. “All it would take is a few words whispered in the right ear. The editor of the newspaper is a good friend of mine. He’ll pull the story and print a retraction, no questions asked.”
“Once I have proof that the story is dead, I’ll deliver your sons back to you—”
“Mr. Payne, you’re mistaken. I’m not doing this because of my sons,” Noah Sr. interrupts a little too cheerfully. “As far as I’m concerned, they’ve brought this on themselves. You can keep them for a while longer if you like, make sure they’ve really learned their lesson.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m interested in something far more valuable,” Noah Sr. continues. “I believe you and I may be of use to each other, you see.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t believe in alliances.”
“Not long-term ones, but short-term can be very useful. I’m not above admitting that.”
I grunt.
“I heard you’re on the hunt for some new allies, the kinds who can bring weapons and men to the table. It so happens I have plenty of both.”
I consider my next words carefully. “You want an alliance, but it’s not contingent on the release of your sons?”
Suddenly, I like the man a lot less. There’s no love lost between Noah, Ryder, and me, but it’s cruel to leave his sons at my mercy.
What kind of father is he?
I like knowing the kind of men I deal with, and what makes them tick, but not being able to understand Noah Sr. doesn’t sit well with me.
Noah Sr. smiles again, showing off a row of pearly white teeth. “Yes, that’s right. You and I have far more important things to do and discuss, starting with rehabilitating your image.”
“My image?”
What the hell is he talking about?
I’m not here to discuss how to win over the press, a bridge I’m sure I’ve burned now that Elise is single again.
Elise is a tabloid darling, with people eating out of her hands, and I knew how tricky it would be to tie myself to her, but at the time, I’d needed the resources.
Giving up my privacy had seemed a small price to pay.
Especially when her father had been more than willing to offer men and resources in exchange for the chance to parade us around.
The arrangement had suited all parties involved until it didn’t.
I don’t care that the tabloids are dragging my name through the mud, or that they’ve made Elise out to be a broken-hearted victim, not when I’ve got much bigger problems to worry about.
Elise can ride the high for as long as she pleases as far as I’m concerned.
“You need to hire a PR team to curate a better image for the press,” Noah Sr. says. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought of this already. How do you think I still have the public’s support after all this time?”
“What about me makes you think I give a fuck?”
Noah Sr. shrugs. “You can’t afford to have your enemies rallying together while you become a pincushion for the masses.”
Without looking away, I wave the waiter over, and he tops off my drink.
The amber liquid burns a path down my throat, but it doesn’t ease the knots there, or the tightness in my chest as I sit across from one of the most callous men I’ve ever met.
I’ve come across some of the most depraved men in the city, and I’ve witnessed enough horror and death to have developed a thick skin, but something about Noah Sr. rubs me the wrong way.
In all the wrong ways.
Going into business with him would be insane.